


Textiles

by Zai42



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Bored Femdom, Car Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Danger Kink, Dresses, F/F, F/M, Frottage, Groping, Kissing, Lipstick, Other, Piercings, Sexual Tension, knife tricks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Or: Sasha methodically tops the entire party.
Relationships: Azu/Sasha Racket, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Sasha Racket, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Sasha Racket, Sasha Racket/Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom, Sasha Racket/Oscar Wilde, Sasha Racket/Sir Bertrand "Bertie" McGuffingham, Sasha Racket/Zolf Smith
Comments: 113
Kudos: 40





	1. Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> Ratings range from UST-heavy T to hard M/soft E.

Hamid never told her to be careful - he knew better than that, at least - but sometimes he watched her with more worry in his eyes than wonder, and Sasha couldn’t help but find it a little insulting.

She was _good_ at this.

It was just the two of them left awake - or left by the fireplace - Sasha thought she had seen Cel stumbling off with Barnes at some point, maybe everyone else was having we-saved-the-world hookups, and there was a part of her that was distantly amused that it was Hamid, of everyone, left alone with her without a second (or third) person to stagger off to bed with. She flipped one of her daggers into the air and watched it catch the firelight; from the armchair he was slumped in, Hamid made a tiny, drunken noise, as cute and small as the rest of him.

“What?” Sasha asked. She caught the knife and twirled it dramatically over her fingers, blade flashing molten gold in the low burn of the fire. “Not - not making you _nervous,_ am I, Hamid?”

Hamid stirred, sitting up straighter. “No,” he said. He blinked at her, a little bleary, as if he had half dozed off already when she’d tossed her knife and startled him awake. “Well, not really,” he amended, sounding abashed. “How did you get so good at that without losing any fingers?”

“I can show you,” Sasha said.

Hamid blinked at her again. His eyes, brassy in the firelight, flickered from her face to her hand, where she was still absently spinning her dagger over her thumb. “Uhm,” he said.

“Look,” she said. She stilled her knife and leaned over the side of her armchair, digging through her pack until she found a leather sheath. “It’ll throw the weight off but that’s okay, won’t lose any bits like this.”

“Uhm,” Hamid said again, but slipped off his chair and wandered over to her side, only a little unsteady. Sasha sheathed her dagger and held it out for him; Hamid eyed it like it would bite him, then slowly took it, held it in his open palm for a moment, then gave a valiant attempt at replicating Sasha’s movements to spin it. He dropped it with a thud on the carpet and Sasha giggled, pleased and wine-warm.

“C’mere,” she said, and scooped Hamid up into her lap, ignoring his high-pitched squeal. She held him close with an arm around his waist, his back warm against her chest; she held the other arm out in front of him, balancing her dagger, only slightly thrown by the extra weight of its sheath. “So it’s all about momentum, right?” She spun it, once, as slowly as she dared, and Hamid hummed thoughtfully. “Like, uh...you kinda gotta let it go, not hold on too tight.”

“That makes sense,” Hamid said, his voice slow and sleepy. Sasha suspected he was enjoying being cuddled up in one armchair more than he was paying attention to the lesson. She spun the knife again, then cradled his hand in hers, holding the knife for the both of them.

“You can kinda feel where it balances?” she murmured, low and soft. Hamid had gone still in her arms; she felt him inhale shakily.

“Yeah,” he said. His thumb twitched towards her palm, his skin hot with wine and the fire and whatever internal core of heat was making him burn against her front. Sasha held the dagger loosely by the handle and spun it, once, over Hamid’s hand, a slow and deliberate rotation. She felt the muscles in his stomach twitch beneath her palm, beneath the gently rumpled fabric of his shirt. “You’re really cool, Sasha,” he said, sighing and snuggling back against her, letting his hand fall away, watching her spin her dagger in lazy twirls.

Sasha swallowed, flicked the sheath open and away in one smooth motion; Hamid sighed contentedly as the blade gleamed, and Sasha couldn’t see his face but she could imagine his eyes going half-lidded, his expression melting into something pleased and impressed and safe. She tucked her legs up under them and showed him every trick she knew, and he was soft and warm and encouraging against her.


	2. Cashmere

There was a logical path to pick out how they got here, Sasha was sure. It started with expensive whiskey (stolen) and a cheap hotel room (paid for), and ended...here. With Zolf naked and stretched out on the bed, with Sasha straddling his hips, with the air crackling with the electric energy of lines being gently but firmly crossed. Sasha shifted awkwardly upright, sitting up straighter to start undoing the laces of her shirt.

“You don’t,” Zolf started, then stopped, eyes following the movement of her fingers as she bared precious inches of collarbone. He licked his lips; Sasha didn’t think he noticed himself doing it. It sent a little thrill of power through her. “You don’t have to do...I mean, if you don’t want...”

“Wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t want it,” Sasha said matter-of-factly. She pulled her shirt over her head; she never wore a bra, but Zolf’s eyes, when she looked back down to his face, were roving over the scars crisscrossing her torso, not locked onto her tits like the one other partner she’d had. She told him as much. She was tipsy, it seemed like a good idea.

“O-oh, uh,” Zolf stammered. “I...I can look, if you want.”

Sasha snorted, and beneath her Zolf collapsed into giggles, and she bowed over him, pressing their chests together, skin on skin. “M’not too heavy, am I?” she mumbled.

Zolf’s hands fluttered for a moment over her back, then he stretched them out above his head, his fingers hooking loosely in the headboard. “No,” he said, voice gruff and low and rumbling pleasantly against her. “You’re fine. You’re...comfortable.”

With her cheek pressed against his chest, she could feel it when his heartbeat kicked up. She slid her palm up his side, feeling the firm plane of muscles under her hand, the soft expansion of Zolf’s lungs as he sucked in a breath, the wiry tingle of body hair over weather-worn skin. “Sasha,” Zolf said.

“Keep your hands there,” Sasha replied, and felt the long ripple of Zolf’s reaction to the order, from the flex of his arms to the minute shifting of his thighs. She sat up and hooked her thumbs beneath her waistband.

Zolf’s breath hitched as she resettled herself on top of him, his fingers flexing; Sasha knelt over him, supporting most of her own weight on her thighs. She could feel the heat of his skin against her cunt, like a brand, hot and eager. “You can sit down,” he breathed. So, slowly, she lowered herself down, let her legs relax, let herself press against the curve of his belly. He took a careful, shivery breath, and Sasha felt it, the pressure of his stomach expanding with it; she squeezed her legs on either side of him to see if she could make him do it again.

“Can I touch you?” she asked, and Zolf groaned, tipping his head back and nodding without looking at her. Sasha slid a palm up his side, rubbed her fingers along a scar, feeling out the difference in texture between that and unmarked skin. (Strange how it was so much softer - how hair didn’t grow there, how the sunbaked roughness seemed smoothed away.) Beneath her hands, between her thighs, Zolf was solid and steady; she rolled her hips to feel the wet drag of her cunt over his belly, and Zolf made a low rumble of a sound, his arms flexing as if he were struggling against restraints that weren’t there.

Sasha bent towards him, liquid, her hands gliding up his torso, her hips rocking against him in a slow, easy rhythm. “All right, Zolf?” she asked. She dragged a hand through the thatch of his chest hair, scratching lightly, watching the tension that crossed his face, the desperation, the needy openness. She ground against him a little harder.

“Yeah,” he grunted. He opened his eyes to meet hers, startlingly green against the white of his eyelashes. Sasha pinched at a nipple to watch those lashes flutter, to see the weakness she could coax out of him. “Yeah,” he said again, shakier. “Good. It’s good.”

She could feel his cock, hard and hot, dripping where it brushed against her back, but he kept his hips still with the same obedience he kept his hands clinging to the headboard. She rocked against him with a lazy indulgence, relishing the firm weight of him against her cunt, the thick curves of his torso under her hands, the gentle give of fat between her own scrawny legs. “Good,” she said. She tangled one hand in his beard; the other she dragged up his chest and cupped over one of his pectorals, feeling it shift as he tensed, feeling his nipple harden against her palm. He sighed, eyes slipping closed, and for a moment Sasha wanted to devour him.

Instead, she bowed her head, her lips brushing over his too lightly to call it a kiss, her cunt sliding slick over his belly as her hips rolled in more urgent circles against him. “Good,” she breathed again, into his mouth, and set to work picking him apart.


	3. Lace

“You aren’t excited to dress up?” Azu asked, peering at Sasha over the privacy curtain dividing their room.

Sasha glanced over from where she was sprawled out on the hotel bed. “No,” she said flatly. “Glad you’re having fun though,” she added, making an effort to get her sincerity across. “Know you like this kinda thing.”

“I know it’s silly,” Azu demurred, lowering her eyes, fiddling with something behind her back that Sasha couldn’t see. “And I know it’s for a mission, but - oh for heaven’s sake - ”

“D’you need help?”

“It’s just a clasp,” Azu said, distracted.

Sasha slipped off the bed and around the curtain; Azu had contorted awkwardly, arms bent behind her back. Sasha eased her hands away. “Here,” she said, “you’ve got ‘em all messed up, lemme do it.”

“Thank you,” Azu said, sounding a little embarrassed. “I haven’t actually worn anything like this before, you know,” she added as Sasha unhooked her dress.

“Mmm,” Sasha said, distracted. The dress was pretty, pink and lacy and silky, with a low-cut neckline that showed off the generous slope of Azu’s breasts. Sasha pulled the fabric tight and watched out of the corner of her eye as they heaved in time with Azu’s breathing.

She forgot, sometimes, how soft Azu was under all that plate armor. She hooked the clasps of her dress with deft fingers, then smoothed her palms down Azu’s waist to her hips.

“You look pretty,” Sasha mumbled, leaning in to nuzzle at her neck, and Azu beamed at her. Her thumbs stroked over Azu’s hips; she dragged her hands back up to ghost over her breasts, heavy and sweet and soft, dimpling tantalizingly where Sasha pressed her fingers in. Watching in the mirror, Sasha could see Azu’s nipples through the soft fabric of her dress, hardening slowly into peaks; Azu bit at her lip.

“Perhaps,” Azu murmured, “when we’re finished tonight, you could help me get undressed, as well?”

Sasha smiled against Azu’s throat, thumbing her nipples through her bodice. “Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes in smug satisfaction as Azu squirmed back against her. “Sounds good.”


	4. Leather

Sasha lay flushed and buzzing on her bedroll, her skin warm and humming. She twisted the earring in her freshly pierced ear and watched Grizzop wrap the needles he’d used in rags for disposal. “Can we do more?” she asked.

Grizzop glanced over at her, a helpless grin on his face, as if he were riding the same rush of endorphins Sasha was. “I only brought the one pair,” he said, but he sounded pleased, and he crawled over to settle himself on her bedroll. “You like ‘em, then?”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, rolling over onto her side and propping herself up on an elbow. “They look good, right? They’re even?”

“Of course they do,” Grizzop huffed. He reached out to tap his claws against an earring. “If you want,” he said, sounding almost bashful, “I could do another set above those. Eventually. Once those heal.”

Sasha reached over and stroked a fingertip along Grizzop’s own piercings, clinking the small hoops together, watching intently as he shivered and leaned into the touch, his ear twitching vaguely beneath her touch. “Do you have others?” she asked.

He slit open one eye to peer at her, the firelight catching it and making it glow like an ember. “No,” he said. “I don’t. Some people do. You can pierce anything, really.”

Sasha rolled onto her back again, hooking an arm around Grizzop’s waist and urging him to straddle her hips. “Like what?”

In the dark, with just their campfire and the stars and the sliver of moon for light, it was difficult to see, but Sasha thought she caught a blush across Grizzop’s cheeks. “Ehm. Well.” He traced a claw over her eyebrow. “Here is popular.” He traced down over her face. “Noses too.” Sasha wrinkled hers as Grizzop tapped it. He trailed his fingers down her jaw and stroked a thumb over her mouth, pausing to press the point of a claw into the plush swell of her lower lip. “Um,” he said.

Sasha darted her tongue out to touch the pad of his thumb. He was definitely blushing, now, his eyes wide and bright. She brought her hands up to circle his wrists, guiding his touch down to her chest. “Here?” she asked, grinning. She slid her hands away, pleased when his remained where she had left them, and cradled her tits, pinching lightly so her nipples would harden and be visible beneath her shirt.

“Yeah,” Grizzop said, strangled. “You - I could do that. For you. If you wanted.” He splayed one hand out and barely managed to cup a breast in his palm - a novelty. Sasha preened beneath the attention. “Um,” Grizzop said again.

Sasha stretched beneath him, watching smugly as his eyes went to where her shirt rode up. “Wanna take a look, then?” she asked. He glanced up at her and she cocked an eyebrow; her blood was hot and high and she felt vaguely invincible. She reached down and tugged her shirt up, then wriggled off the ground to pull it over her head and toss it aside. Beside them, the fire popped, and as Sasha fell back onto her bedroll, she tugged Grizzop down with her to kiss him dizzily beneath the stars.


	5. Satin

“Why do you wear that stuff?” Sasha asked, leaning up against the door to Wilde’s room and watching him get himself dolled up. She had been doing knife tricks, but in the time it had taken Wilde to get dressed and finish painting his face, she’d run out of interesting ones.

He met her gaze in his mirror and cocked an eyebrow at her, somehow managing to convey a smug grin even while he was occupied with applying pigment to his lips. He took his time, dabbing it on with gentle brushstrokes and blotting carefully on a tissue when he was finished; then he spun around in his chair, rested his head artfully against his hand, and said, “Because I like how it makes me look.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “You look just fine without it,” she said, then hunched over herself, glaring as Wilde’s lips, so purple they were nearly black, twisted into a smirk. “Stop,” she said flatly, but it was far too late for that.

“Are you saying I’m _pretty,_ Miss Racket?” he purred, leaning forward, gazing at her from beneath kohl-darkened lashes.

Sasha considered him for a moment, eyes sweeping from the soft curls framing his face to the long lines of his legs stretched out in front of him. She shrugged one shoulder. “Get a decent enough black market price,” she said, and to his credit, Wilde threw his head back and laughed. She slinked over to him, catching his eye as he lazed against the back of his chair, a fond smile on his perfectly painted lips. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that,” she asked, and sank into his lap.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said lightly, leaning into it when Sasha slid a palm up his jaw. His eyes closed as she scritched behind his ear. “Why’re you petting me?” he asked, and the faint slip in his perfect punctuation made Sasha grin.

“You’re like a cat, y’know?” she said. She slid her hand down his cheek, her thumb coming to rest just below the swell of his bottom lip; he parted his lips, just barely. “A real spoiled cat,” she added. She hesitated just for a moment, then swiped her thumb through the slick-soft paint on his mouth, smearing it dramatically, a dark violet smudge across his cheek. His breath caught. “Oops,” she said, insincerely.

He slit his eyes open. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said.

Sasha leaned in until their lips were a breath apart. “Looks better like this,” she said, and dipped forward.


	6. Flannel

The motorcar Cel had built was sleek and impressive and sparked when they turned it on - which, they reassured Sasha as they offered a hand to help her into to passenger seat, it was meant to do. “I just thought it looked cool,” they said, a little sheepishly, but grinning beneath their goggles.

Sasha returned their grin. “It does,” she said. She leaned her chair back and propped her feet up on the dashboard. “Does it make it go faster?”

The blue light from the arcs of electricity gleamed off of Cel’s goggles and made them look even more manic than they already did. “Oh, hon,” they said, settling in, “of course it does.”

Sasha found a handhold and clung to it as the car burst to life and roared off down the road; she whooped and cackled, the wind whipping her hair back from her face and making her eyes run. At her side, Cel was loose-limbed and relaxed, apparently unconcerned with the scenery flashing past them at high speed; Sasha watched them steer and shift gears like it was second nature, and it made her blood feel hot and electrical, like the engine itself.

“Will you teach me to drive it?” Sasha yelled over the wind.

Cel glanced at her out of the corner of their eye. “Any time!” they called back. “Oh you’d be such a good driver, Sash - we’ll have to get you some goggles - ” They took a turn at an alarming speed, and Sasha held on tight, tossing her head back and laughing wildly. It felt a little like leaping off a roof, a little like the middle of a backflip, with her feet pointed to the sky and her center of gravity in freefall. “You would look so good in goggles!” Cel added once the car was back on four wheels.

Sasha took her feet off the dashboard and slid over to Cel’s side, winding an arm around their shoulders. Her heart was pounding giddily in her chest. Cel swallowed, throat bobbing, and they eased, just slightly, off the acceleration. “You’re like, a real good driver, right?” Sasha asked.

Cel swallowed tightly again. “Uhm, well,” they said, sounding a little flustered. “Yes,” they said. “Yes, I suppose you could say that - eep.”

Sasha’s free hand had found their thigh. “Keep going,” she said. “I’m having fun.”

“It’s a bit dangerous,” Cel said, their voice strained as if it wanted to pitch high and low at the same time.

“That’s the idea,” Sasha replied dryly. She pressed the heel of her palm between Cel’s legs, felt them hard and hot in their trousers. “Besides, you like dangerous.” She squeezed.

Cel glanced at her, eyes hidden beneath their goggles, and for a moment didn’t react. Then there was a flicker of a smile on their lips; they pressed hard on the accelerator; the car sparked and blazed off, dust kicking up behind it.


	7. Linen

The thing was, this was dead easy. It wasn’t something Sasha was good at, exactly, so she had expected Wilde was exaggerating when he told her it was simple, but here Bertie was, down on his knees, wriggling with all the enthusiasm of a puppy who had been told to _wait._ She flexed her ankle and nudged him until his spine was straight, his posture proper enough to make Eldarion proud; she slouched further in her chair, watching him with flat, unimpressed eyes.

“You’re just kind of a mess, mate,” she said, letting her foot drop to the floor and feeling a flush of power at the disappointment in Bertie’s eyes. “You got all that flash and you get all sloppy the second someone tells you to get on your knees.”

Bertie huffed, hunching over again like he wanted to protect all his soft spots. “Now see here, young lady, I’ll have you know - ”

“Why can’t you just be good like Wilde?” Sasha interrupted, and Bertie sputtered and went red all the way down his chest. Sasha grinned, sharp as her favorite dagger. “C’mon, you can do better than that. Show me you can be good.”

Bertie grumbled something under his breath, but he sat up straight, tilting his chin up and meeting her eyes. Bare-chested, Sasha thought, he was at least nicer to look at than when he was encased in all that stupid armor. She arched an eyebrow at him, and more of the arrogance bled out of him. “S-sorry,” he said, sounding deeply unsure of himself. “I’ll be good.”

Sasha smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “I know you will, mate.”


End file.
